


Said Sweetly with a Smile

by MissGillette



Series: Secrets of Eastern Palace Boarding School [3]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Exploitation, Hylian Sidon, M/M, POV First Person, Past Underage, Prequel, Teacher-Student Relationship, Twisted Sidon, Verbal Link
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 07:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13335912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissGillette/pseuds/MissGillette
Summary: A peek into Mr. Ruta's thoughts during the first chapter of "The Sofa in Mr. Ruta's Office" as well as his history with some of his victims before Link.





	Said Sweetly with a Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Uhg 1st Person. I dislike this POV, but it fit how disgusting and creepy he is.
> 
> Fair warning: I do not pull any punches in this prequel. Sidon is a horrible, terrible person who prays upon vulnerable students to control and use them. There's no explicit sex in this, but the Explicit rating is warranted. This prequel for the whole series takes place a bit before the beginning of "The Sofa in Mr. Ruta's Office" and also recovers the whole first chapter from Sidon's POV (literally). You do not need to have read any other parts of the series to understand this fic and you also do not have to read this fic to understand the other parts. This one is by far the worst in regards to Sidon's manipulation of his students. You'll see, if you're brave enough lol. Remember: it's me.

_My love is like an arrow.  
_ _Thwack it goes  
_ _into my heart  
_ _with every glance  
_ _touch  
_ _and word._

_My love’s voice is the thrum of the string.  
_ _Hmm it goes  
_ _into my ears  
_ _with every breath  
_ _laugh  
_ _and sigh._

_My love’s beauty is like fletching.  
_ _Shh it goes  
_ _between my fingers  
_ _exciting me with red  
_ _brown  
_ _and gold._

_My love’s body is like the bow.  
_ _Mmm it goes  
_ _against my skin  
_ _curving with every turn  
_ _draw  
_ _and release._

 

When I first read your poem under the smug, sparkling eyes of your composition teacher—meddling hag—two memories come to mind.

One was the first time I ever met you, three years ago on your first day in class. How much smaller you were then, full of fear and quick to hide. But to me, you were just another privileged, snobby fourteen year old with first-day jitters. I couldn't have been more wrong. Your shyness never wore off. Not completely. Despite your loneliness and quiet way, you remained soft and kind no matter what your peers did to you. That kind of softness of soul is rare. That along with your frequent glances and smiles my way helped to keep you within my sights in the coming years. At that time, though, you were just a pretty boy, too shy for me. One of your upperclassmen, Reggie, was wrapped around my finger anyway. You could wait.

The other memory that surfaced as I mull over your written confession is a year old but never strays far from my mind. It was another first, the first time you and I were alone. The school takes upon itself the duty to keep the students’ health and wellbeing in check. That includes physical exams by the nurse and yearly checks of your dear, delicate spines. Carrying around such weight on your shoulders has a literal toll, and we check each of you for deformations and curvature in your spines. It's also an easy way to spot abuse happening at home or school, not that any was evident on you. Unlike the boys before you—Henry graduating that year, Leon the year before, and Reggie still earlier. No, they'd suffered the rage of someone, someone who frightened them and softened them up. It made everything so much easier. If the poor boys wouldn't confess to the beating from a parent… well, they kept quiet about the rest, too.

But I wasn't sure of you at the time. You existed on the periphery of my world, always a candidate for the future. But you were a risk as well. Shy, yes, but perhaps not too shy to run to the headmaster or your parents. Not that it would have mattered. None of them would have believed you over me. You already admitted to me that your parents weren't home much. You were not the light in their life, not the star child. You were an afterthought. How unfortunate for you, sweet Link, with so much love to give. You give kindness away like birds give away song—never asking anything in return. It's wasted on your peers, and they never see your kindness for what it is. Not like I do. That thought crossed my mind as you stood before me, back bare and facing me.

Your skin and spine didn’t bear any of the marks we must report. And yet the longer I sat there, the longer your composure wrinkled a little. You weren't used to such one-on-one encounters like that. The way you shifted from foot to foot showed not nervousness but… anticipation? On the other side of the locker room, a mirror sat bolted to the wall. I just barely made out the shy, tiny smile on your face. You gym shirt hung limp in your fingers, dangling in front of you. But otherwise you made no attempt to cover yourself, made no attempt to stop the pink flush that climbed down your neck, up your ears. At one point, driven to fidgeting, you turned your head a bit to catch a glimpse of me. I allowed you a moment, a few seconds to stare at me before catching you.

You did that often, back then and still now. I wonder sometimes exactly what you were looking at, what went on in that head of yours. Henry, Leon, the boys before… I caught all of you doing such a thing, too shy to say anything but recognizing the desire lurking within yourselves. Something about me captured your attention and lured you in. Of course, I can't deny my preferences. You were all delicate, shy, little things. Each lovely in unique ways, but sharing that common thread. It was never too early to consider Henry’s replacement.

Humming, I scooted to the edge of the plastic chair and asked softly, “Mr. Farore, will you take a step closer, please? One step back.”

You nodded while the flush in your ears darkened. That's another thing you had in common with the others. You all enjoyed the sound of my voice, responded to it automatically and without hesitation. The legend of the siren lives on, apparently. You stepped back, closing the space between us. I wasn't supposed to touch you to examine you. It wasn't necessary, since the curvature we were looking out for is usually obvious. But you were flawless before me, pale skin only sprinkled with freckles along the shelf of your shoulders. You were like a fawn, delicate and quiet. As I stared at the freckles painted on you like stars, I wondered how you might sigh or gasp if I held you still and kissed a path between them? Connect-the-dots, so to speak. I took a last moment to pause, to consider my actions. I was risking it all on a few glances, the way you looked at me full of rapture and mystery. Besides all that, you also trusted me. You trusted me with your secrets and dreams. What's the graze of a hand from someone you trusted?

The thin skin between your shoulder blades went taut as my fingertips skimmed over it. Had you spun around or jumped away, it would have been easy to excuse my caress. But you did not. Your body went tight with a deep inhale, but you remained still. A little more pressure on your skin and all the tension melted out of you. No one touched you in passing. No, it was all tough shoves, hands only meant to hurt you. It was probably a long time since someone touched you so gently, only for the sake of touching. They were the same, too, little Reggie, Leon, the others. Henry especially. Poor dears, starved for such things. Your back was chilly beneath my palm, but your little hum said everything. That hum welcomed me as if you cried out for me for ages and I only just then heard you. Oh, not so, my darling boy. I heard you from the first moment. You must wait on my call, though. That wasn't for you to decide.

“Did you keep up on your stretching exercises over the summer?” I asked casually, dragging my fingertips down the dip of your spine. “You must if you wish to remain flexible.”

Your hair caught in a ponytail brushed the nape of your neck as you nodded.

“Y-yes, sir. I did them every day, just as you said.”

“Did you? Will you demonstrate a few for me?”

You jumped and nearly squeaked with your voice cracking, “Yes, Mr. Ruta.”

Although your voice was too quiet to echo through the locker room, I recognized eagerness when met with it. I stood before you had a chance to trip over your own feet or mine. You glanced around for a moment to find a place to dump your shirt. How kind of you to leave it off, to give me a taste of your skin. If only it were like that all the time, all of you bare. But you assumed a starting position for the first stretch, and I knew you were waiting for my hands. Just like in class to fix your stance while fencing, I stepped up close behind you and held your hips. Shivering under my hands, you kept still and let me shift you how I wanted. We’ve gone through these motions before. I showed you them on the last day of school last term, teaching you these stretches to keep you limber. But my hands on you were like hot spots. I watched your hands flinch towards mine, like you wanted to cover them and touch me in return. You did not. Instead, you took a deep breath and lifted your arms far above you head, straining for the ceiling on your toes. Your back bowed out and away from me with your stretch. In the mirror, unnoticed by you on the other side of the room, I watched your pretty body bend to my command.

Silently, you dipped out of that stretch and bent at the waist. Your little fingers strained and wiggled towards your toes, knees straight. You could nearly reach, and you held the pose for a moment. I left my hands on you, felt how your body curled around my fingers. Somehow, despite your eagerness for exercise, you retained a bit of softness about your hips like a babe. It struck me as odd at the time, but it was not unwelcome. With your ass practically presented to me, I squeezed you where you were soft to coax a sound out of you, a response. You did gasp, breath caught against your legs in your stretch. But besides that, you did not push me away. The next stretch required the assistance of a flat surface to work your hamstrings and calves. I held you close, nearly touching, as you swung your left leg up.

Shoe flat on the wall, I held you steady as you stretched as far as you could. It would have been too much to sweep a hand down your thigh and feel the muscle twitch under your skin. Mmm, but I wanted to. The teasing, passing thought through my head after that was that you could probably do the splits, given some encouragement. But I couldn’t risk a sign of excitement either in a blush or something more obvious. Bending down to touch your toes was enough temptation. I wanted to shift forward, just enough to bring us together. The moment wasn’t right for that. That time was… a test. A little taste of you. So instead, I watched you flaunt your youth, watched you stretch one leg at a time before returning to our starting position. That pink flush that darkened your thin, tiny neck darkened still. How lovely it would have looked, purpled by my hands and lips. That last thought was too much, too real, and I finally released you. Your shiver and how the hair stood up on your arms did not escape me. I kept it with me, waiting for the right time.

“Excellent form, Mr. Farore. Continue these stretches daily. I will show you more if necessary.”

Breathing slightly hard from so little, you nodded and whispered, “Thank you, sir. I will.”

I made sure to catch a glimpse of your face in the mirror. Your eyes were softly shut as if you’d experienced the most pleasurable thing in the world. What sort of fantasies did that moment between us foster in you? Did you think of me that night, how hands at your hips holding you felt, how I smelled so close to you? I hope you didn’t think for a moment I didn’t catch you turning your head my way to smell my cologne or aftershave. Whenever I corrected you in class, you would do the same thing. It was fun, I suppose, to let you get away with it. I didn’t mind you having that one thing, one sense to easily remember me by. When your eyes flutter open after quiet settled over us, I made sure to turn my gaze elsewhere. No good would come from you catching me. Not yet.

Those memories soothe me some as your composition teacher sits across from me in the staff lounge, waiting on my response.

“Well? Isn’t it just darling?”

I offer her a shrug before flattening your poem to the table. If she thinks she’s getting this back, she has another thing coming. Already, bits and pieces of a plan collect together, drawn by some sort of magnetism. Henry is a faded memory to me, now. Thankfully, his calls have stopped. I’ve not heard from him in months. You are seventeen, now. Older than Henry had been when I drew him to me, showered him in the affection and passion that your young bodies seem to crave with abandon. But you are more delicate than Henry had been. This poem speaks for you, shows to me clearly your innocence. You want me, but you’re not sure what to do with that want. How to achieve your goal. Sweet boy, I don’t mind helping you in that avenue.

“Mr. Farore shows promise in archery,” I explain away. “The sport inspires him. Many boys his age find inspiration in sports, track and field, the like. It speaks to him easier than books.”

A gleam remains in her eye, like this is a fun game.

“Don’t you think the imagery in the poem is a bit… precise? A little specific, maybe?”

Of course I’ve heard the rumors. We’re all afflicted with students whose feelings for us take a turn. It’s incredibly common. You have looked upon me with adoration since that first day. How could I not know?

“If you are implying the poem is about me, I find such accusations inappropriate. He is our student, not some character in a soap opera. You injure his reputation with such nonsense.”

She barks out a laugh and waves away my words.

“It’s harmless! What other male role model does he have? He’s maybe one of the only students who never returns with his parents in tow. Someone has to wait with him at the end of term for a car to pick him up. Of course he looks up to you.”

Humming, I take the poem with me while gathering up my things. If she complains later, I’ll return it. But for now, it is mine. I need it.

“Still, be wary of joking about such things. For his sake and mine, if you please.”

I can’t return to my office fast enough. It’s past your designated study period, so I cannot call you out of class, now. No… No, it would be better to call on you while you’re in her class. May as well kill two cuccos with one stone. If I draw you out of class, she’ll assume I mean to dissuade you from writing such things in the future. Which I will, although not for the reason she thinks. But also… a private moment between us will give me time to read the atmosphere, see how much of this is real. Your desire for me has only simmered over the years, like other students in the past. Not all of them became my little Reggie, my darling Leon, or sweet Henry. Most of them had stewed a bit in their hormones until their favor redirected itself. You are not like them, Link. Your adoration has been unwavering. How far are you willing to follow that desire?

I had to resist you in class today. I know what will become of you later when you’re sitting in that cow’s class, forced to listen to her drone on and on. You will come to me and follow my orders as faithfully as you ever have. Although, said sweetly with a smile, an order seems less like an order, doesn’t it? Anyway, I often wonder if you draw your bow with your elbow too high on purpose. You know I will correct you, must touch you to do so. There are boundaries to this sort of game, though. I know your wild, young mind well. It must be full of fantasies where I drag us into the archery shed to have my way with you. Silly boy, you wouldn’t even know where to begin if you had me. If I had you. You’ll see soon enough.

The way you shuffle and blush on your feet as I make you wait doesn’t escape me. You will wait until I’m ready for you, until I’ve had my fill of your anticipation. How darling you are, trying to stay still and not break out into a sweat. I do hope you cry when you realize what trap I’ve sprung on you. Your tender, fragile heart will need comforting after such humiliation. I’ll give it to you, sweet boy, enough to make you forgot your tears. You’re too shy to fraternize with your peers. No one has touched you like I will. I have to pause and take a breath at that thought. You look about ready to jump through the ceiling anyway. Enough is enough.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” My face assumes a smile I know touches your heart, makes your eyes light up. They do exactly that, right on cue. “Anyway, how are you? It’s only been a few hours since we saw each other.”

My smile can’t be too friendly, though. You are not here to be punished, but it is serious. Depending on your reaction, your response to my questioning, this meeting will end in one of two ways. Either I’ll have you on that sofa, the sofa that has seen many sweet things like you, or I’ll have to put my foot down and break your heart a little. Either way, I’ll enjoy it.

“Please, don’t fret,” I say kindly, ready to assuage the worry making you fidget. “You’re not in trouble, Mr. Farore. I called you to me to… explain some things I’ve heard. Through the grapevine, so to speak.”

You’re so precious, so adorable when you whisper, “Yes, sir?”

How my desk becomes a disaster area, I’ll never know. Classic Athletics should not require writing assignments, and yet here I am. Grading papers for a physical education class. Asinine. I know your poem is amongst the pile, and I narrow my eyes at the pile to find it. It should be near the top. I’ve read it a few times, now. Allusion to me aside, it is a fairly decent poem. I will commend your efforts on that once you’re done reading it to me. I want to watch you struggle and break down as you confess. Fightint a grin that wants to turn up my lips, I snatch your poem from the pile and give it another quick read.

“Ah, here it is. I’ve heard some rumors running around.” Your shoulders firm up. Ah, what trouble do you think you’re in? “And I’m not one to believe in them or entertain gossip. It’s damaging for group morale, especially in the close quarters we keep here. But then this was brought to my attention and well…” I offer your confession to you with a flick of my wrist. “I can’t very well ignore physical evidence, can I? Would you be a dear and read this to me?”

An order said sweetly with a little smile isn’t much of an order. But you nod and hop on your feet as if stung by a bee. Your little scuttle to reach my desk and take the poem from me is adorable. You don’t scoot away as you glance over the page. Oh, and how all the pink leaves your face as you recognize the words, your own words written on the page. Such neat handwriting for a little boy like you. I’d like to hide my grin in my hands, but your blue eyes pin me on the spot. I wonder if you’ve pulled a muscle from looking up so hard. Yes, darling, I’ve caught you. You know I’ve caught you. I wish I could see the pulse in your throat, feel how dry your lips have gone. You lick them while staring at me, although it lacks the any sort of sexiness. You look two seconds away from collapsing. Wouldn’t that be grand? I could pick you up and lay you down on the sofa, pet your hair until you came to. Mmm, but I fancy my way better.

“Mr. Farore, the paper, if you please,” I say lowly to knock you out of your panic.

To hear your light, twinkling voice read the lines I’ve memorized… Oh, and your stutter. Absolutely adorable. You shake harder and harder as you go on, knowing fully well why you’re here, now. That poem could be about no one else. You wrote it thinking about me, wanting me. The last stanza is the most damning. You could possibly explain and lie your way out of this if not for those last words. You couldn’t help yourself, hmm? If you were anyone else, those lines would appear cocky in their confidence. But no, you’d meant it sincerely, with all the passion inside you. With your eyes glued to the page, it’s safe for me to duck a hand under my desk and dig the heel of my palm against myself. Sweet boy, you have no idea…

I sigh as I draw my hand away. Right in time, too. I’ve drawn you out of your sorrow, your heart ache. Those eyes, red rimmed with tears, beg me for mercy. Finally, fat tears roll down your red cheeks and cling desperately to your jaw. I do have to hide my grin then, and I tuck my mouth tightly to my hand. You bite your lip when you can’t take it anymore. How I want to leap from behind this desk to have you. Not yet, darling.

I sit up a bit in order to adjust myself before asking, “That poem, Mr. Farore… It is about me, is it not?”

“Yes.”

Oh, to see you cry a bit harder at that admission… It’s so much better than I could imagine. Might you give me a sob? A little whine to beg this be over, for me to forgive or forget? I won’t be able to stand if that happens. My thrill at your sorrow would be too obvious, then. I can barely contain myself as it is. I need to talk you down a bit. My voice always did soothe you.

“I thought as much. The rumor I’d heard, or rather teasing from other faculty, is that you might have a… soft spot for me. It’s not unheard of for students to have little crushes on their teachers.” Your hands tighten around the paper. Oh, I’ve twisted the knife a bit deeper instead. Too late to stop now. “I’m certain everyone has at some point in their youth. As I said before, I’m not one for gossip. So when confronted with such water cooler talk, I denied it. Your composition teacher thought for sure she was correct and gave that poem to me, to one up me, I suppose.”

There’s no harm in telling you the truth. There’s always a thread of truth to every lie. And to watch you bite your lip and shake harder than ever, knowing **you** did this, you did this to yourself, is so delicious. I have to sit up again in order to relieve pressure in my trousers. It’s all lost to you, with your eyes pinched shut so tightly that it must hurt. It won’t stop the flow of tears, my little one. I’ve given you all the mercy I can muster. Oh to hear you sob… I do want that, but maybe later. I can draw the sound out of you in another way, something maybe you’ve dreamed about. But for now, you’re hurting yourself with your teeth, about to rip your poem to shreds. I should lighten up on you. Just a bit.

“Mr. Farore, will you look at me, please?”

Your face, caught up in a storm of red as you hold your breath, turns darker as you struggle and refuse. Rolling my eyes, I soften my voice just for you. Some tenderness is in order. I’ve pushed you too far, perhaps.

“Link, I’m not upset with you. Please, look at me…”

Oops, I almost called you darling. That wouldn’t do. It’s too early for that. You might suspect, bright boy that you are. But saying your name is enough. Your bangs give you some cover—how would they feel, caught in my fist?—for those gorgeous eyes of yours. They are undeniably beautiful while watching me from afar. Damn near enchanting swimming with tears. You’ve cried so much over so little. Really, it’s not that bad. But you are sensitive, soft where bullying and fists harden other boys your age. I like that about you, how it’s easier to twist and mold that softness into what I want. You’ve done as I’ve asked, always do, and I am a generous person. Your tearful eyes widen a bit as I rise from my chair, swing around the corner of my desk, and then sit on the sofa. What will you do, silly boy? Probably stand there, pink lips parted and mouth agape. What’s a bit more mercy? I pat the spot beside me, offering it to you.

Like I’ve tugged a string tied behind your belly, you jump to answer my call. The springs of this old sofa complain as you drop your weight directly next to me. How bold of you, darling, to take the space immediately at my side rather than plaster yourself to the other arm of the couch. You must want comfort, reassurance that I’m not disgusted. In due time, I promise. Somehow, you’ve not torn you poem to shreds. I take it from you before you get the chance. Destroying the evidence will not rid you of guilt. You thrum with shame beside me, though. Poor boy, there’s no shame in your desires. You want me without a full understanding of such desires. There’s innocence in that, something pure. Something you only have once, and then it’s gone.

Your sweaty hands have wrinkled the page some, but it’s perfectly legible still. You’re due some praise after all that humiliation, I suppose. If only to keep you wrapped around my finger. Can’t have you turning that shame on me and hating me for it.

“This is beautiful, Link. Did I really inspire you so deeply?”

Your little fingers fidget with your trousers as you nearly whimper, “Yes, sir. I’m… I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize.” I can’t have you spiraling again. We’ll never get anywhere with you like that. “I’m not upset. I didn’t bring you here to punish you for this.”

I must keep you calm and in the moment. To allow your little mind to wander will drive me up a wall. The end table to my left is the perfect resting place for your poem. With my hands empty, ready for you, I turn back and pin you to the spot with a friendly smile and stare. You blush so prettily when I look at you.

“R-Really? But, um… sir, the poem…”

I have to keep my voice soft, free of the irritation rising in me, as I comfort you.

“It was lovely. Pure and from the heart. I understand why your composition teacher was so eager to show me, besides the allusion to myself in it. You’ve said to me in passing that you don’t like writing, poetry especially.” A broader smile from me sparks some light in your eyes. Yes, Link, not all is lost. Me thinking highly of you means so much to you. You can have that. I’ll allow it. “But there it is, a poem worthy of reciting.”

You lick your lips again, still dry from panic, and stumble over your words as you mumble, “But sir, it’s… You’re my teacher. I shouldn’t—”

Oh, enough. How does someone know what they want and yet dance around it? I have to shut you up somehow, and covering your bitten lips with a finger does the trick. They’re chapped and a little rough, but so pretty up close. Is the rest of you as pink as your lips? Of course I’ve seen you shirtless a few times, seen how sensitive you are to the chilly air of the basement locker room. And your gym shirt does nothing to hide that sensitivity. Are you nipples hard right now, under three layers? I can’t tell, but I’ll save that for later. Your bangs are as soft as I thought as I pet them. Your cheek, too, as I wipe tears off one and then the other. You watch me with those electric eyes of yours the whole time. No distrust, no suspicions lie in those blue pools. You stare at me with wide, hopeful eyes like always. Will this be the time I hold your head, kiss you how you’ve always wanted me to? What else will I do to you? It’s a struggle for me to keep the soft smile on my face. To grin at you now would unravel all this coaxing, all this tenderness.

“It’s not unnatural to have feelings for someone you admire, or someone who pays attention to you.”

I pause at that in order to trace some freckles under your eye. They’re lovely, just like the rest of you.

“Shows you kindness. I had suspected myself that you might feel this way, but of course discarded those thoughts for propriety’s sake. I’m in a position of power over you, and I don’t want to abuse that.”

All lies, of course, but you don’t need to know that. More light sparks in your eyes at my assurance, though. Yes, my little boy, your feelings are allowed. Allow your desire and adoration to grow deep, allow the roots to sink so deep inside you that it will be impossible to uproot me. Let me linger in you forever.

“I like you,” you nearly yell, as if the words needed out right this second.

I feel the same need, because I can no longer hold back a smirk. Your eyes pinch shut again, and I lean into your space, feel your breath on my lips, as you try to explain yourself.

“I like you of… of my own free will, sir. You didn’t do anything wrong, didn’t pressure—”

Kissing you is the best way to shut you up. You speak so little, normally, and now you’re like a fountain overflowing. The silence that engulfs your frantic voice is a blessing on my ears. Will you immediately start rambling again if we part? I’m glad that you’d licked your lips recently so that the kiss ends softly. A tiny sliver of blue is all I can see of your eyes. You must have closed them for your first kiss. It won’t be the last, not by a long shot. If you’ve not threatened me with violence for kissing you now, you won’t if I kiss you again. You even moan a little when I shift back towards you.

I couldn't have imagined how soft your lips are, how plump the lower one is as I cradle it between mine. You jump a little at that, probably not knowing the ways two people can kiss. How I'd like to tease your lips open and feel you moan around me. Your fumbling innocence is adorable for now. You don’t know what to do, don’t know how to angle your head or breath when we’re connected. I’ll teach you everything, don’t worry. It’s easier this way. I won’t have to undo anything erroneous someone else has shown you. No, you’ll be perfect, because I’ll make you that way. Teaching you to kiss will be first, I think. You’ve done well with these first few. I wish I could prevent you from talking. Even thumbing at your lip doesn’t deter you.

But how adorable you are when you stutter, “M-Mr. Ruta, I… please, sir…”

“What you’re asking is very dangerous, Link.”

Not that I have any intention of denying you. I’d lead you to this, although you sprung the trap with that poem of yours. Still, I have to play my part and try to be responsible. Ah, but how naughty you are to bite your lip. I’d just pet it, must you abuse it so? Your little hand, shaking terribly, reaches down to cover mine on your thigh as you blabber on. At least this way you quit biting your lip.

“I know, I… I’m sorry. Please, I won’t tell anyone. I don’t want to… to hurt you, just… I’ve liked you for so long.”

No, you won’t be telling anyone. I’ve misjudged just how deeply your ardor for me runs. Are you in love with me, little boy? How ridiculous you young people are. So easy to jump into love’s arms and bask there. You don’t know the first thing about me. You and the others did so love this gentleness I give you. You boys are so starved for love and affection. I would pity you if it wasn’t so pathetic. I can’t have you spiraling again, though. Holding your hand calms you. I wonder how often you’ve thought of this, probably imagined us walking through a garden or somewhere nice, holding hands like a couple. I blink back a roll of my eyes and reach out to pet your hair. You lean on me exactly as you should. I have you.

“Please, don’t cry, Link. No more tears, darling. I hate to see you so upset. May I… hold you?”

I could easily just lift you up and plant you in my lap. But it’s nicer if you ask or at least agree. I doubt you would struggle anyway. And you don’t as I pick you up and spread your knees around my thighs. You’re right where you belong, where you’ve meant to be for years, now. Henry is gone, and I can have you, now. You’re already so devoted to me, so ready to slump against me and cuddle right up. It had taken time with Henry, poor thing. I’ll be your first for everything, Link. You’ll love being here every second, miss me when we’re apart. I couldn’t bestow such ravenous addiction on Henry like that. No, you will love me, even more than you think you do now. There’s trust and devotion in that love, and I want it.

You shudder against me, and I’m quick to comfort you with my voice. Hylia forbid you start sniveling now that you finally got what you want.

“Hush, little Link, it’s all right. No more crying. Everything will be all right.”

A few kisses to your cheek wrangles a tiny smile out of you. You need much more reassurance than the others. I’ll have to take things slow with you. Perhaps you respond to praise…

“You’re such a bright student, so kind and full of wonder.” You wiggle a bit in my lap and burrow deeper in my arms. Perfect. “Such a good boy.”

Oh yes, that does it. You melt against me and hide your face in my neck. Ah, I’ve caught you smelling me again. A smile from your pretty lips blooms against my throat as I chuckle at you. Perhaps you’d intended for me to catch you. Oh well. You have a flirtatious side to you I never knew about. That could be fun, I decide while swiping a hand up and down your back. But not too much fun, darling. Remember who is in control here. You’ll learn, I know you will. Calling you a good boy is praise, yes, but it’s honest. You are incredibly well behaved, if a bit chatty. I hadn’t counted on that. But a kiss or a quick fondle will quiet you. Or maybe just pets, seeing as how the tension has melted out of you. I hope that means no more tears out of you.

“Better now? You don’t feel like you’re crying anymore…”

Your voice breaks a bit as you say, “I’m okay. Thank you, sir. This must be um… weird for you.”

Your arms around my neck are a bit odd, yes. What a cuddly thing you are. It’s not so bad, and you smile as I laugh in your ear.

“Only a little. I’m just glad you’re feeling better. I thought you were going to pass out while reading your poem. It truly is beautiful, Link. I’d love to hear more, if you’ve written anything else about me.”

“I’ll stop, if you want!”

Ah, caught you. I thought you might have more. What secrets you hide, little boy.

“I’m sorry, sir, really—”

“Link, please,” I laugh as you panic. No more of that. “Never stop being who you are. If you want to write poems and other things about me, please do so. I’d… rather you not turn them in for a grade, though.”

That absolutely has to stop. Your moron of a composition teacher will suspect if you continue such brazen behavior.

You tuck your face back into my neck, cheeks quite warm to the touch, and mumble “Of course. I have other poems about you… Lots of them. I’m sorry if that’s weird.”

It’s not the first time one of my little boys has written about me. I wonder how tame you’ve been in your secret diary, your notebook probably dedicated to me. What sort of things have I done to you on those pages? Are you capable of more than imagining yourself on your back, legs wrapped around me while I fuck you? You must be curious about the weight and taste of a cock in your mouth. You certainly stare between my legs often enough when you think I'm not watching you. Then again, I can't be sure, what with your innocent mind.

The others had been different. I'd caught them all in compromising positions, either with other boys or touching themselves, whispering my name as if they were alone. But not you. A silver lining surrounds you and your innocence. It won't do much to deter me, I'm afraid. I'm drawn to your shy smiles and your pretty blush, the tiny sounds I know you'll make when we’re together. I wonder how you've characterized me while ravishing you. My voice is only a weapon to wind you up. I don't particularly enjoy prattling on to you or the others. Regardless, I'll set the record straight. Besides writing about me, what else have you done to tie us together? I’ve never seen you draw, but it wouldn’t be the first time...

“Not at all. Don’t be ashamed of your feelings for me, Link. Like I said, it’s perfectly natural to be drawn to someone who is kind to you, who makes you feel special.”

That must hammer the final nail in your coffin of doubt. Yes boy, have security in me. I’ll nurture your feelings, shape them like clay into the perfect pet. It will take time and gentle hands, gentler than I’m used to. But I’ll have those beautiful blues of your sparkling with tears, your pink lips begging for me. You sit up some in my lap, and for a split second, I worry perhaps you feel how eager I am. You certainly blush like you feel a cock hard and ready for you, rubbing against your bottom. What a temptress you are...

“Will you kiss me again?”

Your request surprises me, but thankfully I manage to contain it. So eager indeed! Not even Reggie, the most experienced of you recently, asked for a kiss our first time together. It had taken a few sessions to warm him up to such things. Much, much longer for Leon and Henry. I’d almost given up on Henry, to be truthful. Oh Link, you spoil me. And I’ll ruin you in return. If it’s kisses you want, I’ll give you enough to suffocate you.

You blush even brighter when I smirk at you and ask, “Do you want me to kiss you again?”

“Yes.” You want me, but you’re too shy to keep your eyes open. They flutter shut like before as you beg, “Please kiss me, sir.”

I’ll have to break you of this “sir” business. It never was to my taste. I also want to object to your hands on my chest. If you mean to keep me away while we kiss, you will regret. But no, the eager whines you keep muffled between us and the way you squirm say otherwise. You cling so desperately to me, as if I’d ever let you go. It’s far too warm in here for this, and you’re wearing far too many layers. I want to feel you tremble under my palms, taste the pulse of your heart. You will be mine, one step at a time. I wonder what I can coax out of you so early in this little game of ours? Nothing too intimate, I assume. After all, I’ll have to teach you what to do with this little mouth of yours, how to take cock however I want you to. You will, one step at a time.

When sweat itches on the back of my neck, I’ve had enough. I won’t remove any of my clothes for this, but some of yours need to go. At least this top layer. I hope you won’t make a fuss and demand I shed something, too. We must get you used to nakedness first. The other boys had felt unnatural in their skin, quick to whip their hands up and hide their bodies from me. I’ll only tolerate such nonsense for so long. Somehow… I doubt that will be the case with you, darling. You’ve surprised me a few times already—so eager for whatever I want, catching onto my kisses with that quick mind of yours. But not too quick. You love me too much already. It will be easy to cast a line and drag you along. I may even miss you when this is all over, when you graduate. But in the meantime, I must rid you of this damn jacket.

Smile ready on my face, open and friendly like you’re used to, I ask softly, “Would you take your jacket off for me? It’s warm in here, isn’t it? You’re sweating.”

You smile back and nod as I dip my fingers under your layers to finally, **finally** touch skin. You’re as sweaty as I am. Mmm but you shiver as I caress above the waistband of your trousers makes it all worthwhile. I get to sit back for a moment and watch you try to tear your jacket off. Oh, your eagerness will drive me wild. I can’t have you this first time, no matter how badly I want to pin you down and ruin you. How lovely you'd look, lips parted in a cry as your tiny body opened for me. You've probably never had anything inside you. I'll have to be gentle at first. But I can't linger on such thoughts. Too much too soon would upset all my plans for the future. It’s apparent to me, from your innocent but enthusiastic fumbling, that you’ve no black sheep of the family. No uncle who is a little too friendly when he comes to visit. You’re not damaged like the other boys. You just… genuinely like me and want this. It’s so odd that I almost miss you about to throw your jacket on the floor. A hard stare stops you in your tracks, though. Good. The sooner you pick up on the little signals and messages from me the better. You’ll find yourself dumped on the floor for such willfulness.

Currently, it seems your only will right now is to hold on to me. You’re at a loss as to what to do next. I don’t mind taking over, showing you what simple pleasure we can enjoy this way. You don’t even squeak when I drag you forward to plaster us together. It’s been far too long since I’ve had one of you squirming, darling boys in my lap. Oh, and you even lean towards me, eyes closed for a kiss. Adorable, simply lovely. I want you closer, though. You miss the smirk on my face as I lean away, forcing you higher on your knees. Your pout is worth it. I don’t think you even know you’re doing it. Maybe you’ll whine and beg for a kiss? I’m not expecting your jump or the hard press of you against my stomach when I slip under your shirts again. But that has you tight and fast to me, exactly like I wanted, so I can’t complain.

Praise is in order, as well as a kiss, and I give you both in quick succession with a murmured, “Mmm, good boy.”

Your little whines as we kiss stoke the coals of my desire for you. It’s so obvious that you don’t know what to do. I keep expecting you to rock against me, rutting your little cock into our clothes at any moment. Instead, you keep backing away. I can’t have that. The skin of your back is warm under my hands, feverishly so. It’s just the heat of the room and the heat between us, of course. I want to laugh at how you can’t keep up with me, how you don’t know to keep your mouth open. You barely get to enjoy the wet drag of our tongues before I move on to something else. So long as you don’t bite me, we’ll be fine. This moment between us would have a rather swift and harsh ending. I won’t tolerate that sort of violence. You want this, and we both know that you do. You try to hide it by not grinding against me. Silly boy.

Hands on your hips, I try to guide you into a rhythm against me. You only dig your short fingers into my shoulders. I try to kiss you a little softer, a little slower. That might work better. Perhaps it’s too much at once. Shall I comfort you? Don’t tell me you’ve sat here and thought about this, decided this is wrong. How annoying that would be. You still wiggle in my hands, still try to copy what I do with my mouth. No, no it can’t be that. When I lean back enough to disconnect us, your long ears tip down like you’re upset. Maybe… you do need comfort? It’s worth a shot, anything to get you moving like how I want you to. We’ll be getting up to nothing at this rate.

Your eyes are a little wide, maybe you’ve finally felt how much I want you, when I purr at you, “I’ll remind you, my darling Link, that it’s perfectly natural for you to have affection for me. There’s no shame in that.”

I’m thrilled to catch the moment your head flies back as I rock us together, roll my hips into your ass. Yes, feel me, boy. Feel how much I want you, how much you’ll take one day. You must think about this. I’ll give you all of it, darling, that and more. You don’t even know what your body is capable of. Not yet.

“This is natural, too,” I say even lower, making sure to swirl my hips under your ass. “Don’t be ashamed of your body.”

Your throat is too much of a temptation for me. I can’t help a nibble or two, even though I want nothing more than to pin your pulse between my teeth. But I settle for nips of your pale throat instead, nothing that will leave marks.

I feel every sound as you moan, “Oh, please. Please M-Mr. Ruta, ahhh…”

Oh, the sweetest sound is a boy begging. And you’ve begged so prettily, Link. I won’t leave marks on this beautiful neck of yours, but you’ll have perfect handprints on your hips. It must hurt as I grind us together, finally using you to please myself. Despite the pain, it’s good enough for you to choke on squeaks and moans as I bounce you around. All you’ll get out of me is some hard breathing. You’ve not earned a moan from me. I will allow you to move a little on your own. I want you to learn how to do this so that I don’t have to hold you. There are so many opportunities missed like this. Your hair is the perfect length and softness to pull. I’m sure if I shoved these damn shirts away, your nipples are just as sensitive as I’ve seen. Starting with someone so green like you has its pros and cons. Me leaving you to your own devices is a con, apparently, because you lean away from me and stop completely while pouting at me. Again, I’m not sure you’re aware you’re doing it.

“You… You don’t have to stop,” you whimper, face all aglow with wet eyes and pink cheeks. “Are you… not enjoying this, sir? Is that why you stopped?”

Damn you with that “sir” business. I really have to knock you of that habit. More importantly, I’m not finished with you yet.

“Not enjoying this? Oh Link, of course I am.”

If I must control your every move, then so be it. There will be time in the future where you’ll fuck yourself on my cock, come without a hand on you or not at all. I’ll teach you. The rough way I handle you turns you on, that or you’re happy to feel me buck against you. The sight is almost enough for me to moan. With your head thrown back like that, mouth hanging open, you may earn it, though. Your noises fight through to bubble out your mouth with my teeth on you again. You like that, and I’ll have to remember that. I risk it all by nosing away your shirt, snagging your neck between my teeth, and sucking hard enough to bruise.

Your weight falls on me like we’re fucking, and you wrangle a moan out of me that way. Your weight is perfect in my hands, just the right amount for me to lift up and pull back down. I will at some point. I’ll have you on every surface of this office. Your back will know the rough upholstery of this couch, the burn of hardwood as I fuck you on the floor. And that pretty chest of yours I’ll ruin with the grain of my desk. You’re probably small enough to hide in the empty space where I sit. I could have your mouth busy and no one would know you were there. I have to slow down at that thought. You’ve pushed me to the edge just with the thought of you on your knees, teary eyes begging me for more. Silence. No talking.

“That’s enough, I think. As much as I’d love to see if I could make you come like this…”

“You can,” you pant while sagging in my hands.

I wonder how you came across such knowledge. But if I dwell on the image of you masturbating, arm straining to cram fingers inside you, I’ll come. Instead, I kiss the side of your head and nuzzle you. It’s the sort of tenderness you probably need.

“That’s a lot for one day, darling. Plus, you need to go back to class. I can’t make a mess out of you and send you on your way.”

“Please, sir…”

As much as I love your thighs squeezing me, your little ass rubbing against me as you beg, this is enough. That’s another habit I need to nip in the bud. None of this “sir” business and none of you fighting me. You’re a docile, sweet thing. I’d like to keep you that way.

“Not this time, little Link. You should make use of the bathroom connected to my office… take care of yourself, and then return to class.”

Your head bows as you nod and pout. I think about snagging that lip between my teeth when you beat me to it. You nearly crunch our noses together as you steal a kiss. If only I’d done this during the previous semester. I’d have you over my knee for such disobedience. You know you’ve crossed the line, though. Shoulders up in your ears, you climb out of my lap and stand with your head bowed. Don’t think I don’t see you staring between my legs. You’ve probably never seen a man naked before, and it’s not the same as ogling your peers in the shower. You wouldn’t know what to do with me. And you might realize that, because your shyness takes over again, and you look away from me. Still, you can’t resist me as I palm myself. I know you’re watching, darling.

“The restroom, Link. Please.”

“Should… Would you like me to leave the door open, sir?”

Mmm. Oh, it’s tempting. I would love to watch you, little boy. What do you do to yourself? You’ve had nothing but time to explore your body. But I bet it hasn’t revealed all its secrets. You must know the exact grip of your hand, the precise caress of your finger needed to make you come. But what else? Do you pet the tender flesh of your inner thigh while thinking about me? Or maybe you cram those short fingers in your mouth, pretending they're mine? Are you adventurous enough to reach down and finger yourself?  It may not be pleasant if you don’t know what you’re doing. But even a little pressure against your hole feels good. You must know that, probably discovered it on accident while washing yourself. What boy your age isn’t curious about his body? I struggle to breathe even thinking about it. Maybe you’ll tell me what you know, what you’ve done. I could tolerate you talking then. I have to squeeze myself in order to stop the buzzing in my gut. Any more and I’ll have you on the disgusting rug you’re standing on.

“No, Link. Give yourself mmm… some privacy. Off you go, now.”

I swear, boy, if you fight me now… That will be the end of it. That’s the last you’ll have of me. You are full of surprises, though. You nod and scuttle right to the bathroom after my last word. You even close the door without being coy, trying to sneak a peek around the edge. I half expected that, but no, you disappear completely. I almost wish I’d gotten one of your shirts off you. I’d hold it to my face while shoving my hand down my trousers to rid myself of all this pent up energy. I had been ready to come from your squirming body, ready for ages for you. I come long before I hear your little whine against the door. I’ll have plenty of time in the future to watch you come.

Tissues on the end table where your poem has rested all this time clean up the mess from my hand. My office is quiet again with you sequestered in the bathroom. It can’t take long for a boy like you to come. Even when I had them trained like dogs, the others were betrayed by their age. Such poor control. I wonder how you will fare, once I start on you. I must introduce you to toys, to things smaller than me inside you. Ah, the first time I hold you down, press my fingers to your tiny hole… Hopefully I don't have to teach you to enjoy the sensation. Your mouth and body are so small… It will take patience and praise to train you. It’s a brave new world with you, and anything is possible. I could get you to do anything I want. I ought to start you on something small and simple, something to get you used to penetration. That can be for next time. For now, I collect your poem and return to my desk. I suppose I’ll have to hand the paper back to your composition teacher. Unfortunate. I’d like to speak with her and the rest of the staff as little as possible.

But you emerge, shy and still pink in your cheeks, and I throw that idea out of my head.

“Better?”

Your clothes and hair are set to right as you nod. You look as though I hadn’t nearly ravished you on that sofa.

“All right, then. Back to class, Mr. Farore.”

That’s the end of it for now. I’ll probably call on you during your study period next. The teacher monitoring you won’t care if you’re gone for an hour. You certainly won’t notice the time passing, not with me all over you. Should I dive right in next time, tear down your trousers and take my fill of you? Not with my cock, of course not, but oh just the image of your squirming on my fingers… I already can’t wait. I would like you to leave, but you shuffle closer to my desk instead of towards the door. What could you possibly want?

“M… Mr. Ruta? Sir?”

That’s certainly something I can take care of before you leave. I open my mouth to correct you, to rid you of that “sir” habit, when you surprise me yet again. You don’t wait for me to invite you or respond. Instead, you swing you hip around the edge of my desk and stand at the corner nearest to me.

“Can I, I mean… May I kiss you, before I leave?”

Your politeness is appreciated, little boy, but you think you deserve a kiss? I’m not ready to spoil you yet. But the hopeful way you present your face and the way you beg with your eyes… Oh, I should deny you, just to see what you’ll do. But I suppose too much harshness from me right now might turn you away. I can’t have that, not when we’ve just started. The longer I stare at you, the more your courage crumbles. Good. For you to be too confident around me isn’t a good idea. Confident boys are more difficult to control, more difficult to persuade. You’re of no use to me like that.

I stand with my gaze already nailing you to the spot. You wouldn’t move away in the first place. You’re smart enough to read this, the way I close the space with a single step and tilt your head up. Hopefully you’ll learn how to angle your head on your own. I won’t do it for you all the time, and if you want kisses, then you’ll learn. You seem to enjoy it as I dive straight into you, pushing past your lips and taking what I want. No biting, thankfully. Hylia above, boy, if you ever bite me… I can’t think about that, can’t think about poor, little Leon and his broken nose, his tooth that had probably rolled under the sofa all those years ago. His one offer of advice to you would probably be to not bite me. I hope for both of us I never have to repeat that lesson. Your little whines and how you strain on your toes to kiss me brings me out of those memories. It’s different, now. You’re already mine, whereas Leon never was. None of them were. Not like you.

“Sir I… Please, I want to see you again. I—”

Without a tongue or cock in your mouth, apparently you’ll speak. A finger over your lips will have to do for now. We don’t have the time for more. We will see each other again, anyway. Your worry is as silly as you are.

“I will not deny you, my little darling. We’re in the thick of it, now, and I won’t deny you. Be satisfied with that knowledge, for the time being.” A kiss to your forehead is the last thing you’ll get from me today, spoiled boy. “Off with you.”

I could get used to you bowing your head. You’re so pretty when you do it, chin tucked to your chest.

“Yes, sir.”

I nearly bite my tongue off when you step away. Blast you and your “sir!” If I fall into my chair a little too hard, you don’t notice. You must miss me already. I can’t even imagine that. I do need you to stop calling me “sir,” though. Before you make it out the door and back into the halls, I must correct you. It will be the first of many corrections, I feel. But you’ll learn, my pretty boy.

“Link, will you do something for me?”

You thrive a little on me calling you by your first name. Good.

“Anything, sir,” you say with a smile.

“When we’re alone… in my office or anywhere else, might you use my first name? Only if you want to, of course.”

I say so with my voice deep like before. I’d caught you shivering at that moment. You do enjoy my voice regardless. Why not use it to my advantage? An order said sweetly and with a smile isn’t much of an order. But you’ll never understand that.

“Absolutely. Um... “ Oh, your blush returns. I wonder how dark it can get. I wonder why it takes so little from me to make you blush. But you smile at me, brighter than perhaps anyone has ever smiled at me, and ask, “What, um, what is your first name, sir?”

“Sidon.”


End file.
